June

Who wouldn’t have preferred a longer June; ’though

this seems trivial now in these milk-white lights. With June

comes Folsom East and Pride and waking up in someone

else’s bed and I am not really good at telling you these lies

so I will explain my sadness here; try to come clean. One June,

the rain fell nightly; felt like everyone had died. I understand

Sexton now, though I pretended I did before, tried to

grasp onto grief like a child holding onto their mother’s

thumb. It can be hard to wake in the middle of someone

else’s leaving. Impossible even to carry that burden.